


Drunken Thoughts

by intergalxtic



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Angst, Drinking, F/M, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I love Delia Deetz, I mean it, Mentions of Assualt, Scars, beetlebabes dni, mentions of child abuse, nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:33:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24181393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergalxtic/pseuds/intergalxtic
Summary: “We actually aren’t that different, you know.” Her eyes wander around the room as Beetlejuice finishes pouring the boiling water. He dips the tea bag a few times before throwing it into the bin and handing the steaming mug to her.“I get it, you’re horny and like drugs.” He says bluntly, and her eyes narrow.“That’s not what I meant.”Delia & beetlejuice spending time together, even if it's at an ungodly hour of the night after she's had to much to drink.
Relationships: Beetlejuice & Delia Deetz, Beetlejuice & Lydia Deetz, Charles Deetz & Delia Deetz
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69





	Drunken Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!
> 
> I'm sorry for any inaccuracies, I've never had alcohol...
> 
> Hope you enjoy anyway!

Beetlejuice misses Lydia. All he wants is to cause some chaos, but her and Charles have gone away overnight to visit her grandparents, and now he is alone.

He wanders around the house, and finds himself in the attic. However, there is no-one there. God, the Maitlands are so boring, getting all their community service done in one day. He won’t admit it, but he loves them for it.

He is about to open the netherworld door to join them, when he hears Delia’s voice calling Charles’ name. And then Lydia’s name. And then Charles’ again.  _ Is Deborah dumb? _ His inner voice says, but he quickly shuts it up as he floats down two flights of stairs to witness a very drunk Delia, her head buried in her arms on the table.

“Are… you okay?” He says gruffly, drumming his fingers rhythmically on the table.

Her normal top-knot has fallen into a ponytail, and when she lifts her head, he can see the partially dried mascara tracks running down her flushed cheeks. 

“Charles?” She rasps out, her voice shot from crying/drinking (Beetlejuice doesn’t know at this point), her usual energetic demeanour gone. She blinks her eyes a few times, before they finally focus on the demon. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Gee, nice to see you too.” He comments, poking his tongue out at her. Delia lazily rolls her eyes at him, pouring another shot. “What’s got you down in the dumps.”

“Charles… Charles and Lydia have left!” She splutters, downing the shot immediately. “They aren’t anywhere in the house… same with the Maitlands! They’re gone!” 

Delia bursts back into sobbing, and for a moment Beej almost takes a swing of the whiskey straight from the bottle. If there was any wine left, he would have done it. But it is empty, and he figures the conversation they’re about to have is one to stay sober for.

“Of course they are gone. They’re visiting Lydia’s grandparents or something.” He sighs, not taking his eyes off the alcohol. Maybe he will drink some. Delia narrows her eyes on him, slumping back on the dining chair.

“The Maitlands can’t leave the house though.” She states, very ‘matter of factly’. It is that comment that makes Beej reach for the whiskey and chug two shots worth of it.

“Not Adam and Babs, dummy.” This is a nightmare. Delia’s face softens, her muscles still tense and unmoving, except for her ragged breaths. It makes him uneasy, he’s never seen Delia so still. 

“Oh. I forgot about that.” Delia remains unreadable, but he can sense the relief in her small voice. He waits for her to say something, or start sobbing again. But the closest she gets is a tear slipping down her face. 

“You good?” He is too tired for this shit. Normal Delia is already a handful, but drunk emotional Delia? 

“No.” She whacks her head back on the table, her loud sobs shaking the whole room. “I thought… he left…”

“Don’tcha think,” Beej pauses, taking another drink from the bottle. “That you’re being sorta irrational right now?”

“Says you.” Delia retorts, not even lifting her head to acknowledge him.

“Rude.” 

They sit in the not-quite silence for another few moments, but it feels like forever. Delia snatches the whiskey back from Beej, taking a long chug. She hiccups, and Beej laughs at her, earning an angry glare. 

“That stuff is strong, how much have you had?” He tries to make it up, but he ends up laughing even louder. 

“I had the whole thing of wine…” Delia points to the empty bottle, then back to the whiskey, already pouring yet another. “Like… ten shots,”

“Woah.” Beej goes wide-eyed. Even he can’t have that much alcohol without passing out, and he is a demon. So he snatches away the shot glass just as she is about to down it. “That’s enough for you then.”

Delia doesn’t even fight. Her head is hazy, her thoughts incoherent. But there is one thing she needs. Sleep. She just wants to pass out on her bed and forget the embarrassment of getting drunk and forgetting Charles and Lydia’s little trip. She even had the option to go, but ultimately turned it down. 

She attempts to stand up with wobbly legs. Using the little balance she has, she stumbles towards the sofa, only to crash into it and fall onto her bum. Beej sighs. 

All the times he has been drunk and people have just looked down on him, but never Delia. She is always sympathetic, giving him water or even once she gave him tea, and tucked him into bed. 

Her soft eyes always look right through his tough exterior and masking. She asks before running her hands through his hair, changing the purple or red back to green again. Maybe he should do the same. But he won’t. Not because she doesn’t have hair that changes with her mood, and she would kick his ass if he goes anywhere near her hair, permission or not. 

He can possibly help her, If he can figure out how to work the kettle. And where is that tea she likes! He rummages through cupboards, throwing it all over the floor until he finds the thin cardboard box. It’s very fragrant, smelling chamomile and lemon balm… and lavender? Beej shudders. Lavender is too soapy for him, but Delia seems to like it, so he places the tea bag into the mug anyway. While he’s waiting for the water to boil, his mind wanders.

He has never seen Delia so disorderly, even on her birthday and at the odd dinner party. Maybe because she is around other people. Perhaps it’s Charles keeping her grounded, but it doesn’t stop her from vaping on the roof every so often. Once he even found weed stashed in her shoe, but he never found the need to bring it up. 

Just as the water finishes boiling, Delia unsteadily walks in the room, gripping onto any surface she can find for dear life. Settling on sitting against the door frame, she starts speaking softly.

“We actually aren’t that different, you know.” Her eyes wander around the room as Beetlejuice finishes pouring the boiling water. He dips the tea bag a few times before throwing it into the bin and handing the steaming mug to her.

“I get it, you’re horny and like drugs.” He says bluntly, and her eyes narrow. Now everyone knows about Beetlejuice’s trauma, as he just info-dumps it now and then, and they are all familiar with what he’s comfortable and uncomfortable with. But with Delia, nobody knows anything apart from a string of bad luck when it comes to being abandoned. She doesn’t talk about, and has no desire to. Until now.

“That’s not what I meant.” Delia wraps her cold hands around the hot mug, blowing on it lightly. When she observes Beetlejuice’s confused expression, she laughs and decides to clarify. “I’ve noticed similarities in our lives.”

“Being horny and drugs?” Beetlejuice sits on the opposite side of the doorframe, his legs crossed. Delia shakes her head violently, almost spilling the tea on her lap.

“You’re not getting the point.”

Beej stops in his tracks, his train of thought slowing to a halt as he searches his mind to find what she means, when it hits him. And it hits him hard, and all he can force out of his mouth is:

“But you’re so… you know,” He waves his arms as he finds the words, struggling from the shock. At the same time, he really isn’t surprised, just not ready for the conversation. “Wow,”

“It’s difficult...” Delia takes a sip from the tea, grimacing as it burns her mouth. Her voice has such vibrato Beej thinks it’s about to snap. “To talk about. But I won’t remember this conversation in the morning, so say what you want, and I'll say what I want.”

“Juno didn’t feed me.” He says, his emotions shoved away into the back of his mind. “Always drinking. Occasionally hurt-hurting me. You?” He chokes on his words, stammering. His hairs tinges white, against his wishes to stay calm.

“I was fed. But she ignored me a lot.” Delia starts feeling oddly reminiscent, a sadness surfacing from deep within her. She remembers in elementary school asking her mother to sign forms from the school, and rarely getting a reply. “But it was almost worse when she didn’t.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, regretting it immediately after. Of course he knows what she means, at least he thinks.

“When you are told enough insults, you begin to believe them.” Is definitely the answer he isn’t expecting. “Even if they’re not true.”

Delia acts so confident and with such grace, her smile lights never fails to light up the room, her choice of words always getting laughs whether or not it’s supposed to be funny. She never seems to care, laughing with them. But if you look deeper into her eyes, you can see the insecurities. 

“I was always told I was always told I didn’t belong. No matter where I went.” Delia keeps going, Beetlejuice shrinking back. “Not just my family, but everyone. I never had a purpose.”

“Fuck.” Beej mutters, loud enough for her to hear.

“I’m sorry.” All of a sudden Delia feels sick to her stomach, her body finally processing the alcohol, despite the sobering conversation. “I… I should go to bed now.”

“I’ll help you up the stairs.” He offers, standing up and holding his hand out. She shakily takes it, her hands warm from clutching the mug tightly. They slowly make their way up the stairs, Delia sways side to side, making it extremely difficult for Beetlejuice to guide her, and make sure she doesn’t fall down the stairs.

When Delia reaches her room, she slams her mug down and takes her neatly folded pyjama top from the end of the bed. She starts stripping off her clothes, her back facing the demon. He might be pervy at times, but this is his best friend's step-mum. Gross. Despite not looking, he can’t help but notice the prominent scars underneath her shoulder blades, and he gets the sense that she wasn’t telling the full story. He runs his hands over his scars covered by the sleeves of his suit, shivering at the memories. His curiosity sparks a thought. Does Delia do the same thing? Does she stare at herself in the mirror, wishing for them to disappear? Because he certainly does.

“Thank you,” She whispers, as she settles into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin, her eyes already fluttering closed.

“Yeah yeah. Goodnight Delilah.” Beetlejuice grunts as he exits her room. The door shuts with a loud creak, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. With luck, she won’t remember a single thing. 

He’s right. She does, however, wake up with a killer headache that an Advil doesn’t even touch. Around two in the afternoon, Charles and Lydia get back from their little trip. Delia trudges down the stays, lacking her usual poise, keeping her happy attitude. 

“Charles, Lydia!” She exclaims, giving Charles a peck on the cheek as he wraps one arm around her waist. “How was New York?”

“It was great.” Lydia smiles, then darts up the stairs to her room. Charles looks at Delia happily, pulling her in closer.

“What about you? How was your night last night?” He asks, causing her to pull away slightly.

“What I wanted to be one glass of wine, became a full glass bottle and like… a lot of whiskey.” Delia laughs at Charles’ concerned look. “I remember I was upset, and beetlejuice came to console me, then after that, who knows.”

“Why were you upset?” Charles asks innocently, but Delia feels like she got stabbed. She forces a smile onto her face, and silently shrugs.

“It was the booze. I’m going to find Beetlejuice. I need to thank him.” Delia bites her lip, then slowly walks up the stairs, her grip on the railing so tight it might break. Beetlejuice comes out of his hiding spot behind a potted plant, sneaking up on Charles. 

“Delia’s looking for y-”

“I know.” He interrupts, checking his surroundings, which he never does. “Look. I don’t think Diana is gonna want me to tell you this, so don’t tell her you know.”

“What’s going on? Is she okay?” Charles is taken aback by the seriousness in Beetlejuice's voice. 

“She was crying because she forgot you were away. She thought you left her.” Beej can feel his throat restricting, even though he doesn’t need to breathe. Quietly, he adds, “And unloaded years of trauma but that’s not what I’m saying.”

“She… did? What are you talking about?”

“Just be careful, okay?” Beej whisks away, probably to poke at the Maitlands. And judging by the faint scream and loud crash, he is right.

Beetlejuice? Telling Charles to be… careful? That’s unusual. 

Eventually, he moves from his frozen position to put his bag away. Strolls into their room, humming a soft tune, throwing his bag onto the white sheets and landing with a soft thud. He notices the bathroom door is slightly ajar, and he peeks through. 

Delia’s body is facing away from the mirror, her head turned awkwardly. She has pulled down the dress sleeves far enough to see her scars. She stares at them trying to get a better view, adjusting her stance, when her eyes fall to Charles’. Panicked, she hurriedly pulls her dress back up, fixing a grin on her face.

“What are you doing?” He asks her, nudging the door open further, letting more natural light into the room. 

“Fixing the flyaways in my hair.” She casually lies, snaking her hands around Charles’ waist. He lets the lie slide this time around, being careful, as Beej put it. The bags under her eyes contrast the happy smile that tugs at her lips, a blush forming on her face when Charles presses a kiss onto her nose. 

“I love you, you know?” He mentions, his thumb brushing over her cheek. Delia tightens her arms, then looks straight into his eyes.

“I love you too,”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it!
> 
> If you want, you can leave a request here or on my tumblr (same username)
> 
> :)))


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